Traveler: Season Two
Episode 10: The In-Between
Nobody likes to be in that in-between state where they don't know what's going to happen.
Melanie Lynskey
As the downslope gave way to a flat surface the bouncing of the ATV eased to where Kim no longer felt the need to squeeze Jay's waist in a death grip to prevent herself from being bucked off. She lifted her head from where it had been locked against his shoulder and looked around. Ahead of them the red glow of tail lights made it easy to follow Tyler as he wove through a copse of trees. She swayed slightly as they curved sharply to the right to avoid two picnic tables. There were a few more bumps and jiggles before forest floor gave way to the loose gravel of a man-made parking area.
Tyler glided to a stop and immediately turned off the ignition. Sliding in beside him, Jay did the same.
Light from the rising moon streamed through the surrounding trees. As Jay dismounted, a beam caught him from behind and formed a faint halo around his head. Weary as she was, Kim couldn't help but appreciate the image of him as a rescuing angel.
Her legs were wobbly and she was grateful for his supporting hand as she climbed off the ATV. The ride over rough terrain had left her sore, chilled and limp. She wanted to lean into him, but he held her at arm's length while asking, "Kim, are you okay?"
No was what she wanted to say, but she clipped the word before it could spill off her tongue. The hand that gripped her arm was trembling, and she couldn't–wouldn't!-add to Jay's distress. She guided his hand to her cheek and savored its warmth against her cool skin. "I will be. Now that I'm with you."
At least her mom was all right. Before the grinding motor of the ATV had prevented all communication between them, Jay had assured her that her mother's injuries were minor and that she'd already been released from the hospital.
"Have you heard from Will?" Tyler called in a voice too loud to be aimed at Jay standing beside him. It took Kim a few seconds to spot a figure standing next to a car in the far corner of the otherwise deserted parking area.
"Not yet," a female voice replied, "and we can't wait around for his call. Stash those four-wheelers and let's get out of here."
An authoritative timbre to the voice tickled Kim's memory. It was the FBI agent, Marlow, the one who had questioned her at her parents' house and later followed her to Club Fervor. She was walking briskly toward them, the gravel crunching under every step.
"Jay, why is she here? Did you turn yourself in?" Kim rushed out the questions while her mind jumped ahead to formulate its own conclusion. It didn't completely make sense, but... The ski lift... Chambers... "You turned in Will," she said, sobbing with relief. "It's over. They've got the person responsible for the Drexler."
"The trade was Will's idea."
"However it happened... I'm just glad it's over. They believe you now, don't they?"
Jay shook his head. "Nothing's over. Marlow..." He hesitated, pointing to the slim FBI agent. "She believes us, but..."
"Jay," Tyler called from where he was guiding his ATV into the trees, "move it. Catch up later."
As Jay turned his attention to the second four-wheeler, Kim focused on a sound that had been hovering at the edge of her consciousness. It was a mechanical rattle that had gone from a faint clink to a deafening clatter. A helicopter.
"That's Chambers' people," Marlow shouted. "They're looking for us." She took hold of Kim's elbow and hurried her to the car.
"But... you work for the FBI," Kim protested. "You work with Agent Chambers. Please tell me it's over."
Marlow opened the passenger side back door and gestured for Kim to get in. "Nothing's over. Your boyfriend and Tyler are still wanted for the Drexler. If we don't get out of here, we're not going to get a chance to prove their innocence."
The brief moment of hope, so quickly vanquished, tore at the fragile fibers holding Kim together. As she collapsed onto the padded bench seat her hands folded over her abdomen. Loss. So much loss. She felt her mouth opening and heard a despairing wail without realizing that the two were connected.
xxx
Jess sat quietly in the passenger seat of a government-issue black sedan as it threaded its way through the bustling traffic of midtown Manhattan. A pedestrian weaving between the slow-moving cars brought everything to a halt; horns immediately blared in protest. Patience was almost an unknown commodity in this part of the city.
When they were moving again she asked, "Did my father say when he'd be home?"
Agent Ellis replied from the back seat. "No, Miss Chambers."
The brevity of the answer told her that further questions would be fruitless. Any information that the two agents were permitted to convey had already been shared: they'd been instructed to drive her to her father's townhouse and to remain with her until told otherwise.
South of 34th the traffic thinned and remained that way until they entered the Village where narrow streets restricted the flow. Traveling at a snail's pace, they made a half right, a left, and another right, which brought them to the front of the brick townhouse that Jess and her father called home.
While Agent Kennedy looked for a place to park, Ellis escorted her inside. After telling him to make himself at home, Jess started up the stairs. Though she had done next to nothing all day, she was exhausted and her feet dragged over every step.
The second floor that housed her father's bedroom and study was dark and ghostly quiet. It never seemed to come alive except when he was home. In sharp contrast the top level was always warm and welcoming. As she passed the closed door of the guest bedroom Jess's eyes flowed over the art that lined the hallway. Each piece was as expertly framed and matted as if it were a masterpiece, when in reality they were all samplings of her own not-so-masterful artistic endeavors from kindergarten through fifth grade. She kept telling her dad that it was past time to take them down. His only response was a roll of eyes that suggested her request fell just below "turn the living room into a hookah parlor" on his to-do list.
It was his loving attitude that bordered on adoration that kept her quiet about the decor of her room.
Walking through the open door, she found herself in an environment better suited for a fairytale princess than a twenty-first century college student. The white four poster bed was crowned with a gauzy purple canopy that trailed down behind the headboard. The windows were topped with empire valences made from the same light-weight fabric; white shutters with heart-shaped cut outs covered their lower halves. To her right, a whimsical string of multi-colored pastel bulbs outlined the mirror on the vanity. Fairy lights was how her father described them, and he was diligent about replacing burned-out bulbs as soon as they failed.
Even when they'd moved here–some eight years earlier-the room had been inappropriately youthful in design. She'd been thirteen, bordering adulthood in her mind, and somewhat embarrassed by the furnishings her father had chosen. She'd recognized his motives–that it was his way of trying to comfort her after their devastating mutual loss–but it had been a year and several months before she'd invited a friend to her room.
Flopping onto her bed, she stared up through the thin fabric to the skylight above. Throughout the night, the glow from city lights masked the stars, but she always imagined that she could see crystal points of light floating high above. And one of them was her mother, keeping watch over her family.
As she acknowledged her own personal fantasy, Jess thought that maybe the fairytale environment wasn't so inappropriate after all.
xxx
The boundaries between oblivion and consciousness, past and present were blurred. Deep in his core, Will knew that. But the knowledge didn't help as he attempted to sort out the images flashing through his brain.
Thundering claps of explosive charges lingered in his ears while the dizzying aftereffects of their concussive blasts played havoc with his equilibrium.
It was important to focus.
Seconds, or possibly hours, later a nebulous picture formed. An explosion. Maybe more than one. Then...
Pain.
Jostling.
Movement.
A name, Murphy, slid in.
"Connor, it's okay," Murphy said. "You're going to be fine. We're in a chopper. Almost to base. Hang in there."
Almost to base. Theexplosion. They must have bombed the place. And must have somehow figured out that he and Murphy were there and pulled them out.
He'd been brutally beaten while passing along snippets of misinformation, tidbit by excruciating tidbit, buying for time. Even before the missiles hit, he'd been too battered to so much as squirm away from the next blow. Murphy must have somehow extracted him during the confusion.
"Thanks." The one whisper was all he could manage.
"Yeah, well... That's what we do. We look out for each other."
"Was...?"
"Stay quiet. You don't want to exert yourself. You couldn't help what happened. It was a bitching situation. You didn't have the proper training to know how to resist them. You did the best you could. Don't worry about what you told them."
"Didn't..."
"Crazy, though. I didn't know that you spoke the language. Must be why they put you in our unit."
"Didn't..."
"Look, we got out. You were right about that. And we sure as hell didn't need help from that mythical Nightingale soldier. It was a straight-up op; as fuckin' smooth as a well-executed training exercise. Now just hang in there."
Hanging was all he could do. There was no energy to do more.
The face hovering above him came closer. But... it wasn't Murphy. It was—
He tried to progress beyond what was no more than a vague conjecture, but concentrating made it fade rather sharpen.
Then he slipped away.
xxx
If Tyler had ever spent a more physically uncomfortable night, he was glad that he didn't remember it. Reaching around to rub the back of his aching neck set off a spasm in his left side. The human body wasn't designed to sleep in a modest-sized, lightly stuffed, straight-back chair. He looked with incredulous disbelief to where his legs were stretched out before him and wondered that he'd slept at all. Yet he knew he had, and fallen asleep without effort or he would have joined Jay and Kim on the floor, even if it meant squeezing the three of them into a space the size of pup tent.
Stretched out below him, his two friends were lumped under a blanket, with heads and arms sticking out in random fashion that at first glance gave them the appearance of a two-headed monster with mismatched limbs. Beyond them, against the far wall-not so far, really, measurement wise-Marlow slept on a day bed that doubled as a sofa. Tyler knew that a large portion of New York City lived in tiny studio apartments, but he'd never before considered the limitations of such a cramped space.
However, beggars couldn't be choosers, and that probably applied to Marlow's living in Manhattan on an FBI agent's salary as well as their desperate need for a refuge. Their flight from Massachusetts had been long and harried. It had seemed as if every law enforcement official within a four-state radius was looking for them. If they weren't dodging helicopters, they were crawling along cow paths to avoid roadblocks.
Reason suggested that every motel and hotel would be put on alert, so they had come here. Back to the city. Hoping that the last place they should have been would be under less surveillance.
To Tyler's left was a teensy kitchen nook, no more than undersized appliances, a sink, cabinets and a counter top lined against the wall. A closet that didn't look big enough to hold more than a dozen garments jutted out into the room and, along with a narrow strip of linoleum flooring, helped to define the kitchen niche. Behind it was a bathroom that met the definition of standing room only. Both the toilet and sink were smaller than standard, which allowed room for a shower stall of claustrophobic proportions. If asked before last night, Tyler would have denied the possibility that a bathroom could be compressed into such a small space.
At least they were safe, for now. To the best of their knowledge no one knew that Marlow had joined their team. So why not hole up in her place where the only potential danger was suffocation from four people sharing a pocket of air that was barely large enough to sustain a single person?
In the Fog house in the Hamptons, Tyler's closet was twice the size of Marlow's apartment. His closet!
I'm a snob, he admitted to himself. The Castle was a mansion compared to this... He tried to resist using the word hovel, but once it surfaced in his brain, it wouldn't leave.
People endured worse, he knew. Immigrants and the poor probably stuffed entire families into a space this size. Men and women lived on the streets. Prison cells were small. None of that comforted him, especially not the thought of a prison cell that might be looming in his future.
Light seeped in around the edges of the shade that covered the single window. That and the squeals from traffic on the street outside told Tyler that it was morning. He shifted slightly and brought his watch up to his eyes: 7:46. He'd slept longer than he'd thought, though nowhere close to what might be considered a full night's sleep.
As his hand drifted over the stubble on his face, it contacted the cheek that was still tender from Will's blow. Will. He was missing. Again. He had a phone with him, the one he was supposed to call them with, but hadn't bothered to share the number with anyone.
In other words, typical Will.
Since he couldn't do anything about Will's absence, Tyler had resolved not to worry about him and found that was easier than expected, especially when his stiff, sore, and aching joints were clamoring for attention. He needed to move before he became as immobile as the rusted tin man in the Wizard of Oz.
After carefully planting his feet to avoid the sprawl of bodies, he stood up. Sidling to his left, he reached the kitchen area that was blocked by a small table and the overburdened coat tree they'd stuffed there to make room for Jay and Kim. By squeezing into the tight space between the coat tree and the table, he was just able to crack open the refrigerator door. He zeroed in on a half gallon carton of milk on the top shelf. As he pulled it out, the door swayed. It was the slightest of movements, but enough to send the unbalanced coat tree tilting toward the sleeping twosome.
Tyler dropped the milk and grabbed for the falling pole. He only managed to snag a coat.
As startled cries filled the room, Tyler reasoned that at least the coat tree hadn't guillotined either Jay or Kim when it landed on them.
xxx
When she saw her father slumped in sleep on his favorite leather recliner, Jess thanked the gods of chance that she hadn't clattered down the stairs. It was half past eight and she could count on one finger the times in the past when she'd known her father to be asleep that late in the morning. It was a little bit of a shock, one that triggered the worry center in her brain.
She studied him briefly-searching for signs of wear and tear and not finding anything beyond the usual stress lines that came with his job- before tiptoeing into the kitchen.
Even with the sun still hovering behind the surrounding buildings, splashes of light danced about the glass-enclosed dining alcove that her father had added when he'd renovated the kitchen three years earlier. She and her father had shared many a meal in that cheery space, enjoying the unobstructed view of backyard. Though small in size, the yard had been landscaped to give the illusion of a larger space. A stone path drifted out from the minuscule patio, winding past a dwarf maple and through a patch of perennials before reaching the pampas grass that lined the back of the fence.
Turning her attention to the kitchen proper, she wasn't surprised to find an empty refrigerator and cupboards that were close to the same. At least there was coffee and it was only a couple of months past the sell by date, so she was spared the necessity of hoofing it to the nearest Starbucks. She had more than a gut feeling that her father would explode if she took off on her own.
She was pouring fresh-brewed coffee into a mug when her dad walked in, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jess ran across the room and wrapped her arms around him.
"Hey, hey, what's this all about?" he said, returning her embrace.
"I don't know," she answered. "Guilt. Worry. Where were you yesterday? No one would tell me anything."
"I would have had to cut out their tongues if they had. But I'm fine, and you're fine, and that's all that matters." He gave her tight squeeze. "Is that fresh coffee I smell?"
xxx
Marlow's apartment didn't allow for privacy. But while the boys were wiping up the spilled milk, Kim had managed to convey a desire for a medical consultation that she wanted to keep from Jay. Pointing out that Kim's face wasn't flashing across every news channel 24/7, Marlow had overruled Jay's objection and insisted on taking Kim for a "breath of fresh air."
The subway ride had been short, the wait long, and the report exactly what Kim had expected. She was in the process of recovering from an early term miscarriage, with no sign of complications.
Marlow's soft voice conveyed sympathy as they sat in the swaying subway car on the return trip. "You'll have to tell him."
Numbness surrounded Kim as she nodded in reply. "When the time is right."
She had been ninety-nine percent sure she was pregnant before the world had turned upside down. She'd been prepared to share the news with Jay when Tyler had answered his phone the night they were out celebrating the start of their road trip. Then doubt had crept in. How was Jay going to react to the news? He might resent a pregnancy that would interfere with his plans.
Afraid to face the consequences of telling him, she'd kept the information to herself. And the night had slipped away, and morning had brought the Drexler explosion which had overwhelmed everything else.
xxx
The distant sky resembled a battleship that was discharging its guns one after the other. Flashes of light exploded out of gunmetal gray clouds. Bolt after bolt zigged and zagged into the mist below. While the violent storm raged to the south, only a cool, dry breeze flowed over the stone patio where Mailer and Fancher sat, chairs angled into a glass-topped table so that they had front row seats for nature's Oscar-caliber performance to the south.
A forced-air gas fireplace set into a rock wall blasted warmth toward their legs while an umbrella shaped patio heater bathed them from above. Some might have called heating the outdoors the ultimate decadence. To Mailer, it was simply using his wealth to provide a modicum of comfort.
Fancher refilled both of their coffee mugs and passed one to Mailer before sipping his own. "We've been over this before. No news from Jon is good news. It means he's onto something and doesn't have time to take or make calls."
Mailer looked at his watch. "It's been over twelve hours."
"But who's keeping count?" Fancher teased. "Why don't we concentrate on what we do know. We've confirmed Freed's involvement."
"More than involvement," Mailer corrected. "He would have been in charge. Jack isn't the type to take orders from anyone, except..."
"Yes?"
"From his mother."
"You think Rosalind?"
"I know Rosalind." Mailer pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "If she wasn't in charge before, she is now that Jack's gone. When's the memorial service?"
Fancher glanced at his watch. "In a little over seven hours. At the National Cathedral."
"That should just about give me time to get there. Alert the crew. Tell them to file a flight plan for Reagan. We leave in an hour."
xxx
Jay. Tyler. And... Kim. And...and...and... Marlow. Recalling the four names was a small victory. Now if Will could just open his eyes.
But they remained closed and he wondered if he didn't secretly prefer it that way. He felt good, slightly buzzed. Not even the jostling that occasionally sent him rocking one way or the other was bothersome. If he could stay this way forever...
"We're almost there," a voice announced.
Here was so pleasant. Why bother with there?
S'okay. He projected the thought outward without really caring if anyone picked up on it.
xxx
Tyler rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow more tightly about his head. He'd taken over Marlow's bed, which was comfortable enough, but the room was far from peaceful. Jay was prowling the small apartment like a wild animal confined to a cage.
Tyler lifted the pillow off his head and grouched. "Hey, I'm trying to sleep here."
Jay pointed to the carpet as he continued to pace . "It's not like I'm making any noise."
"I can feel the vibrations."
"I thought you were the person who could sleep through a nuclear explosion."
"I'm not that person any more," Tyler said, his voice trailing off as he realized that it was the pitter-patter of his own heart that was keeping him awake. With the edge off his exhaustion, sleep was proving to be elusive.
Jay stopped beside the daybed, his face mournful. "I didn't expect Kim to be gone this long. Where are they?"
"Maybe having brunch somewhere?" Giving up on sleep, Tyler rolled out of bed. "Let's not think the worst."
"Why? Because things have been going so well for us?"
Tyler pointed to the small flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. It was set to CNN with the sound muted. "That's the married congressman who was caught having an affair with his chief of staff. Boring. Do you think they'd be covering infidelity if something related to the Drexler had surfaced?"
"If the Fourth Branch is involved, CNN wouldn't know a thing."
"Marlow is an FBI agent. If you remember correctly, she carries multiple weapons. Nothing happened. Sit down. Get something to eat. The granola was pretty good. Even dry."
"I'm not hungry. I'm worried."
"Look," Tyler said, trying to keep his voice sympathetic, "we haven't heard from Will in half a day. I don't know how my dad is doing. I never found out if that girl, Gabe's friend, got home safely. And maybe the Mayan prophecy that the world is about to end is true. There's a lot to worry about, but let's try to avoid those places."
"So what should we do?" Jay asked, his voice still gloomy.
"Barring wandering the city to look for Kim and Marlow, which isn't something I'd recommend, we have no choice but to sit and wait. And..." he added a second later, "maybe get something done." He retrieved the briefcase that was propped beside the door, extracted a bulging file folder and passed it to Jay.
Jay scanned the papers. "Marlow's case notes." He started to flip through them. "Hey, here's mention of Joseph Langdon . That's the guy who gave Will orders to kill us on the recording."
"Are you sure it's the same Joseph?"
"Yeah. Will told me, when you were off playing drug runner."
"He could blow the cover on the whole conspiracy." Tyler divided the papers into two stacks. "Let's see what we can find out."
xxx
A glance in the mirror by checkout told Kim that she was starting to look closer to normal. The newly applied make-up hid an unnatural paleness. And the newly purchased jeans and striped top were a big improvement over the baggy sweat suit.
"Is there anything else you need?" Marlow asked as she completed the credit card payment.
"Not right now. Thanks."
Kim shifted the shopping bag from the clothing store to her left arm and reached out with her right hand to accept the bag from the checkout clerk. Extracting her new sunglasses from the bag, she slid them into place. Then walked with what she hoped was confidence to the store's entrance. Bright sun greeted her as she stepped outside. The people dodging to make space for her on the sidewalk didn't so much as glance her way. They were intent on their own lives. New York was like that. You could be in the middle of a crowd and still be surrounded by a cone of privacy. With everything that had happened, she appreciated the sense of fading into the background.
"The boys have money," she told her companion. "They'll reimburse you for everything when we get back."
"I'm not worried about that." The light changed to green and they crossed the busy street before Marlow spoke again. "There's a small grocery around the corner. I don't eat in much, so we better pick up a few things. Then it's just a short walk to my building."
"Good. Jay is going to be frantic."
"What are you going to tell him?"
"That we've been shopping." Kim held her chin high as she added, "Which we have."
xxx
Jay tried to concentrate on Marlow's notes, but his mind kept wandering. He found himself reading the same paragraph over and over again.
"Hey, this isn't good," Tyler said. "Joseph Langdon is dead."
"Did they blame us?" Jay asked, remembering that the death of John Ellington had been added to their list of suspected crimes.
"Not this time. Marlow shot him. In self defense, from what she says here."
"Nothing seems to be going our way." Jay rapped the eraser end of his pencil on the table. "Who else is left to prove the conspiracy? Your father? We know he's not going to cooperate."
"Maybe Will knows someone, if we ever hear from him again. Why blow up the Drexler?"
Jay said the first thing that came to his mind. "The money from the stock sale..."
"No way. They could have done that without spending two years to set us up. Will's tuition alone made that an expensive..."
"Wait. Tyler. Look." Jay gestured to the TV while pressing the remote to turn on the volume.
Footage from the Drexler filled the screen. They watched curls of black smoke and jagged shards of flame spew from blown out windows. A voice flowed over the evolving scene "...produced no new information, but an F.B.I. conference is scheduled for four o'clock this afternoon."
The picture cut back to the newsroom. "In a related development, Cameron MacNeill from our New York affiliate caught up with Felicia Cruz, the mother of Jay Burchell, just one hour ago. Ms. Cruz had this message for her son:
As the picture switched to an auburn-haired woman standing on a bustling street corner, Jay felt his heart thump in his chest. "Mom."
"My message to my son is simple. He needs to turn himself in. Jay, if you are listening, please go to the nearest police station. I know you're innocent. I don't want anything to happen to you." She turned away from the camera and began to walk away. "That's all I have to say.
Returning to the Atlanta news center, the reporter said, "And now for a look at today's weather."
Tyler reached for the remote control and turned off the sound. "That store behind where she was standing, that's the tailor my dad uses. His shop is just south of Columbus Circle. Your mom was maybe a mile from here an hour ago."
"I knew they'd question her. I didn't expect her to be in New York." Jay dug the heels of his hands into his forehead. "She's already been through so much because of my dad. And now this..."
"She looked pretty broken up."
Jay shook his head. "Dammit. She doesn't deserve this. She really doesn't. I never told you what she does. She cleans houses. She cleans other people's houses."
xxx
Amy looked up from her desk as Jess entered their dorm room. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?"
Jess tossed her pack on the floor and flopped on her bed. "I'm cutting." She nodded toward the door. "My escort is in the hall. I didn't feel like showing up at class with a Suit at my side."
Amy swivelled her chair to face her. "You know," she said, "this time your father might have a right to be worried. There was the stuff with your wallet and phone, then..."
"Connecticut," Jess finished for her. "You were right. I should have stayed far away from Gabriel."
"He called me," Amy said. "I don't know how he got my number. I told him I wasn't your answering machine."
"Good for you!" Jess felt a smile spread across her face. "I'm through with Fogs."
"So, what was he like? The terrorist brother..."
"More frightened than frightening. I felt sorry for him."
Amy groaned. "I don't like the sound of that."
"No, no. I'm really through with Fogs. It happened so quickly that I didn't have time to be scared I know better than to take a risk like that again."
"I'm sure your dad was glad to hear that."
"I don't think he heard anything I said this morning. His mind was miles away. He barely choked down a cup of coffee before he left."
"It's a big case," Amy said. "The biggest thing to hit New York since 9/11."
xxx
Pungent smells and sharp voices faded in and out before a handful of persistent words penetrated the swirling mist.
"What's your name? Do you know your name?"
Name...? The lingering hint of antiseptic provided a clue. A field hospital. Maybe at an FOB. He'd been injured. Beaten. His name was... Christopher Connor.
Except the face that was looking back at him from a mirror–what mirror?-belonged to someone named Eric. Eric's face was smooth and unmarked except for a faint creasing of his brow.
An undertow pulled him deeper until the intrusive voices were not even a memory and only Eric's face remained.
Eric swore to himself as he studied his reflection. The tie wasn't right. The bows weren't even and it was listing slightly to the left. Of all the assignments his uncle had given him, this was the most asinine waste of time he could ever have imagined.
He could solve complex math problems in his head, was fluent in seven–close to eight–languages, had climbed three of Colorado's fourteeners, but social situations mystified him.
And it wasn't as if his schedule allowed for several hours of doing virtually nothing.
Midterms were rapidly approaching. And he hadn't yet gotten through the Arabic CDs. He couldn't start on Russian until he'd finished those. Not to mention his work-out routine. He'd mentally scheduled a run through the eucalyptus groves above campus this evening.
But he'd found a tuxedo hanging on his apartment door nob when he'd arrived home. The accompanying note from his uncle said that he was expected at a black tie dinner at Dean Snyder's house at half past seven.
If his uncle had delivered the invitation in person, he would have told him to fuck off... before he would have agreed to go. But that hollow act of rebellion had been denied him. It wasn't as if he could refuse. Fancher had made it clear that all of the perks and privileges he was enjoying were dependent on his successful completion of any and every task assigned to him. Which included even this ridiculous request.
It wasn't just the tie. And it wasn't just that there were more important–to his mind–demands on his time. It was the whole idea of a formal dinner in a monkey suit.
His uncle had taught him the difference between a fish fork and a salad fork. He'd explained that you always enter your seat from the left and exit from the right. That you fold your napkin in half and place it in your lap, open edges out. That you never begin to eat until everyone has been served.
But Eric had never considered that he'd actually have to put that knowledge to use.
Outside of St. Felipe's cafeteria, the only time he could remember socializing during meals was way back in early childhood when he ate dinner with the Korean kitchen staff while his mother tended bar out front. It wasn't likely that he'd be seated next to illegal immigrants at the Dean's.
Maybe he could pretend that his English wasn't very good.
And if Uncle David got wind of that, he could kiss Berkeley goodbye.
He straightened the tie and took another look at himself in the mirror. The young man staring back at him looked comfortable in the tuxedo. If he were going to be honest, he might even say that the reflection appeared to be debonair. While Stephen Mailer had zero experience with formal dinners, who was to say that Eric Ransom had the same upbringing?
Eric recalled the holidays at Aunt Clara's, the multiple courses, the delicate crystal. And while meals at home weren't as fancy, his parents worked in publishing and were always bringing home stray literary types: writers, artists, and even the odd adventurer. He wasn't adverse to dining with strangers, but rather had always looked forward to their next bizarre dinner companion.
Once it got started, his imagination couldn't be stopped. There was the student trip to Haiti to aid in charitable endeavors and the dinner with an aging Hollywood star. Recalling how she had pinched his thigh under the table, a smile formed on his lips. With Eric's experiences to guide him, dinner was going to be a breeze.
Eric brushed a hand over his neatly trimmed, razor-cut hair, so different from Stephen's unkempt mop, and winked at his reflection. Have a good time, he told himself before heading for the door.
It wasn't until he was crawling into bed at half past midnight that he realized he was no longer Stephen Mailer. He was Eric Ransom, with Eric's background of modest wealth, extensive travel, and scintillating dinner conversations. He fell asleep with a vision of Eric on an spring trip to Paris. He was leaning over the parapet on the Pont Neuf; the sun had set an hour earlier. Below him, the waters of the Seine undulated and rippled in the reflected light from the lamps lining the bridge.
Eric... Christopher... Brian... Daniel... mixed and mingled with other names, a kaleidoscope of identities, none any more or less authentic than the other.
xxx
A shift in light patterns prompted Carlton to look beyond Gabriel to where the door to his hospital room was opening. "Agent Chambers," he said. A scowl formed on his face to accompany the greeting. "You mustn't have gotten the news. The Federal prosecutor has decided not to bring charges against me. Since you no longer have business with me, you may kindly leave my room."
"I'm not here to see you, Mr. Fog." Sauntering closer, Chambers paused beside Gabe's chair. "Your son has been a naughty boy again. Yesterday evening, we had a short encounter with your other son. He didn't stay long enough to pass along his respects, but what he left behind was interesting. A customized SUV registered to Gabriel Fog. The suspects' prints were all over it."
"Tyler must have stolen it. Isn't that right, son?"
Gabriel shrugged as if unconcerned. "I haven't driven it since before my deployment. I put both of my cars in storage before I left."
"So you didn't give it to your brother?"
"I haven't seen the car since before my deployment." Gabriel snatched up the menu that Carlton hadn't yet filled out and wrote something on the back. "This is where it should have been. Maybe they can help you."
"As you can see, my son knows nothing. So no more questions and no more answers. Furthermore, if you don't stop harassing us, I'll be forced to take legal action of my own."
xxx
Kim sat on the daybed clutching a pillow to her chest. Jay was making sandwiches, his back to her. Tyler was in the shower and Marlow was out. She'd probably said where she was going, but Kim's mind had been elsewhere, thinking about how much could change in such a short time.
If it were possible, she'd turn back the clock, but she wasn't sure to when. Before the boys left on their road trip? Before she moved to New York while Jay stayed behind in New Haven to take a refresher course for the bar? Before she met Jay?
It was unsettling to even consider whether her life would have been better without Jay. It might have been easier. But certainly not better.
The sound of her name broke her trance. "Did you say something?"
Jay turned to face her. "Swiss cheese or American?" He pointed to the sandwich; a forced smile tightened his lips into an almost grimace. They were both trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, but Kim couldn't summon even a manufactured smile in response.
"It doesn't matter. Whichever is easier."
Jay placed one or the other on top of sliced turkey, slathered on yellow mustard and topped it with a second slice of bread. With one hand steadying the sandwich, he wielded a knife with the other and sliced the square on the diagonal.
"Let's eat," he said, carrying two plates to the table, where they joined two glasses of Diet Coke.
"Sure. Let's eat." The words were as stale as bread that had been exposed to air for a week.
They'd moved the table so that the daybed would serve as Kim's chair. But instead of taking the chair across from her, where he'd set his plate, Jay sat beside her. "It's going to be okay." He took her right hand and held it between both of his, his fingers gently tracing a random pattern on her skin. "We'll get through this."
"I hope so," Kim answered. "From everything you've told me–involvement of FBI agents, deep conspiracies–it's not going to be easy." She tried to nudge Jay away. "Let's eat."
"Before the sandwiches get cold?" he joked. But he took the hint and shifted to the other side of the table. "We are going to work this out. Marlow believes us. Others will as well."
"Sure." Kim bit into the sandwich and mechanically set her mouth to chewing. She needed to tell Jay. Now, while they had a few moments alone, she had to tell him.
"I wish we knew where Will was. He should have called by now. I'm getting worried."
The food sliding down Kim's esophagus thickened to an unmoving bulge. With effort, she forced it down and sent her anger exploding out in its place. "Will! How can you be worried about Will? He's responsible for all of this. He's the reason we lost our baby!"
xxx
Tyler had volunteered to go last, so the bathroom was damp and steamy even before he turned on the shower. The exhaust fan in the ceiling wheezed valiantly, but couldn't crank quickly enough to keep up with the onslaught of moisture. By the time he was finished, rivulets of water ran down the walls. After easing himself out of the cramped enclosure, he grabbed the least moist of Marlow's two towels and began to rub himself dry.
Dressing without banging an elbow wasn't easy. It required twists and turns that would have done a contortionist proud. By the time he'd stuffed his legs into his jeans, he felts as if he'd completed a minor workout. "Awkward," he told himself as he hefted the waist into place.
Awkward didn't even begin to describe what greeted him when he opened the bathroom door.
"...reason we lost our baby."
It was dozens of seconds, maybe even an entire minute, before he processed what he'd heard. "K-Kim." The word was a strangled rustle of sound that twanged off his vocal chords.
If Marlow's apartment had seemed small before, within the span of his exit from the bathroom it had shrunk to phone booth size. He stood with paralytic embarrassment as Kim and Jay looked at each other, looked at him, looked back to each other. No one spoke, and their silence expanded into what felt like a physical force that would eventually turn them all to stone.
Someone had to say something. Tyler didn't think it was his place, but maybe it was, given that he was an intruder into what should have been a private exchange. He cleared his throat while trying to find a tone that would convey concern rather than shock. "Kim, were you pregnant?"
"I was."
Jay hastily added, "I didn't know."
"I'm sorry."
Now words were rushing out of all of them, one on top of another.
"If you had given Jay the phone..."
"Phone?" Tyler backtracked through memories until he found one that fit. "When we were at the club in Manhattan. You were going to tell him then?"
"I called you back a few minutes later," Jay said. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"By then I'd lost my nerve. The next morning was the Drexler," she added. "There was never a good time after that. I was so worried about you. By the time they dragged me off to that awful hut, I almost forgot. That's..." She flung herself sideways and buried her face in the comforter. Her voice was shredded with sobs when she continued, "where it happened." Jay was at her side in half a heartbeat, running his hand over her shoulders, her back.
"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, but his voice carried strains of desperation and despair that suggested he felt as helpless as Tyler.
Tyler massaged his temple in a futile attempt to sooth the mental anguish that he felt for his friends. His mother had had a miscarriage. After Gabriel. He wouldn't have known about it if he hadn't overheard part of a telephone conversation. He recalled that she'd said "sometimes it just happens." Maybe the Drexler and Kim's kidnaping had nothing to do with it. But now wasn't the time to toss out vague, possibly comforting theories based on a conversation that he'd half heard as seven-year old.
Instead, he snatched up the chair that had been moved along with the table and carried it to the far corner of the kitchen area. Grabbing one of Marlow's Drexler folders, he forced himself to read words that, given his mental state, didn't begin to make sense. It was the only privacy he could offer.
xxx
Fred Chambers swung his car into his dedicated parking space in the FBI's underground garage. It had been a busy morning as he juggled FBI and Fourth Branch duties that resulted from the chase the day before. Now there was just one more call to make before he went to his office.
The phone was answered on the first ring.
"Yes." Whaley's greeting was typically abrupt.
"Traveler is a dead man. I've got the official confirmation. Now that we have the painting, he's expendable. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good."
During the swift elevator ride to his floor, Chambers shrugged off the emotional charge the call had provoked and locked his FBI persona into place. He was cool, calm and most definitely in charge as he began a systematic stroll through the outer work space, stopping randomly at half a dozen stations to question, offer a word of advice or simply to observe.
Richardson would be back from DC today. When he was up to speed, he'd take over profiling duties, leaving Farrell available for reassignment.
He was just about to head for his office when he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. Changing course with a swift pivot, he propped himself in the doorway of an office cubicle. "Marlow, what are doing here?"
"Just picking up a few personal items." She pointed to an umbrella and three plastic reward cards, the kind that gave you store discounts, that marred the surface of her otherwise empty desk. "I thought I might do some shopping while I have free time." She stashed the cards in her purse and picked up the umbrella.
"Good idea." His mind was already moving on to the next item on his mental itinerary as he stepped aside so that she could leave.
He could put Farrell in charge of follow-up interviews with Fog and Burchell's key associates. That would allow Richardson to focus on the suspects themselves.
Yes, that would work nicely.
xxx
"Traveler call yet?"
Jay avoided looking Kim's way before replying. "No. What did you find out?"
"The FBI operation failed. They don't have him."
"Then where is he? What about the Fourth Branch?"
"I don't know," Marlow said. "I was only supposed to be at the office to get some things from my desk. I picked up as much scuttlebutt as I could, but had to leave once Chambers showed up. The official word is that they were after you two. After a confrontation that involved explosives and gunfire you both got away. One of the team, Duncan Brady, was wounded in the arm. His wrist is broken."
"Good," Kim said, her voice not much more than a whisper. "He gave me the creeps."
"He can be an ass," Marlow agreed.
"So," Jay said, trying to get the conversation back on track, "if they lied and said Tyler and I were the targets, they could be lying about the operation failing as well. Will said the Fourth Branch wouldn't want him exposed to the public. They'd never make him an official prisoner of the FBI. For all we know, every agent involved in the operation has Fourth Branch ties and they could say whatever they wanted about what happened."
"There were a lot of agents involved," Marlow said. "Two teams on the ground and another in the air. I'd hate to think that all of them are crooked."
"There were only three in my car," Kim said. "They were the only ones there when I got on the ski lift."
"And one of them was Chambers," Jay pointed out. "He would have hand picked who was with him. They could easily have been Fourth Branch. Look at what happened to us after we were arrested at the Queensboro Bridge. FBI agents were prepared to shoot us in cold blood. And I don't think Kim's abduction was FBI, either. For all we know, the Fourth Branch has Will."
"It's possible," Marlow admitted.
Tyler leaned forward shaking his head. "Will had a plan. He told me he had a plan. And until I have irrefutable evidence to the contrary, I'm going to think his plan worked."
xxx
Pain jerked him half awake. He might have cried out; he wasn't sure. His senses were muffled, as if everything were filtering through a thick wad of cotton. His eyelids didn't want to move, but he was able to slit them open enough to see blurred tentacles drifting his way. Something descended toward his face and pressed against it.
Get away... He placed a peremptory order to his body to attack. But before it could respond, the urge to struggle faded and everything went black.
end of Episode Ten